


Eight Rainbow Carrots

by bloodandcream



Series: The more the merrier [84]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Dean, Double Penetration, Humor, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, bizarre insertion, inappropriate use of produce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: “Carrots shouldn’t look like that.”Aaron, bored with his macaroni table collage, wanders over to the sink where Dean and Cas are. “They’re like, rainbow carrots. I don’t know. It’s organic or something. My mom brings me groceries once a month, she’s concerned about me eating well.”Cas offers Dean a purple carrot. “Try it.”“I would rather stick those up my ass than in my mouth.”





	

Cas.

Cas-ti-el No-vak.

That weirdo roommate of Aaron’s, Dean’s study partner for chem.

Cas has possibly the best ass in all of existence.

(Which is no insult to Aaron’s ass. Aaron has a great ass too. What Dean likes best about Aaron’s body, though - in a strictly sexual sense - is how fat his dick is.)

But, Dean has his hands on Cas’ ass right now. In fact, he’s too busy groping Cas that he can’t be bothered to take the joint. Cas is a great friend though. Cas grinds his fine ass down on Dean’s lap and curls a warm hand against the back of Dean’s neck, leaning down and pressing their lips together lightly, breathing smoke into him.

Dean relaxes his jaw and closes his eyes, breathes in, lets Cas into his body, tongue chasing smoke. Squeezing the tight-drawn denim of Cas’ black skinny jeans and that fine, fine ass, Dean holds his breath and kisses until he’s dizzy.

“Hey, you could at least pass it.”

Aaron nudges Cas’ shoulder, jostling him. Cas, pulling back to cross his arm over Dean’s lap and pass the stub of a joint over to Aaron, almost falls backward off of Dean and onto the floor.

At least they had already pushed the coffee table away from the couch, butting it up against the tv stand, because they were stumbly idiots when they were high and that table had mean, mean corners.

It probably had a vendetta against them.

Next to them on the ratty curb-find couch, Aaron sinks into the cushions and pinches the stub so delicately between his fingers it’s practically cradled in the sliver of his nails. There’s not enough left for another round, so Cas drapes himself across Aaron to reach the ashtray and stash box on the side table that’s really just two milk crates stacked on each other.

Cas ends up staying like that, shifting onto his back and stretching his legs to the other end of the couch, staring up at the popcorn-texture ceiling as he lights another and passes to Dean.

Dean inhales, holding in the fuzzy-scratchy feeling as heaviness settles in him, a slowness, like the comfort of a warm blanket wrapped tight. Aaron has his head nestled on Dean’s shoulder by the time Dean passes. There’s music in the background, that eclectically foreign sounding music Cas prefers, warbly and strange and it weaves itself between Dean’s ears.

“So, how’d your Spanish test go today?”

Dean makes the mistake of asking.

Aaron looks at him appalled, “Dude, no school talk on Fridays.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean lays a hand on Cas’ bare foot and drags his fingers up, tugging at the skin-tight jeans and scratching over the smooth shaved skin of Cas’ leg. Right, right. No school talk on Friday. Dean doesn’t really think college is that bad, he kind of likes it. He knows that Aaron is here because of family pressure. And he knows that Cas is here because he’s smart and has scholarships, but he’s aimless and doesn’t know where else to be.

Dean hasn’t figured out their other roommate, Ash, yet. They usually buy weed from him, but he hardly leaves his dark and glow-light velvet poster covered bedroom very much. He seems like a chill guy.

Cas starts hacking and half curls over the edge of the couch, eventually giving in to a fit of breathy giggles.

“Does anyone have any money?”

Cas’ eyes are bloodshot and the black liner around them smeared, smile wide as he looks up and blinks between Dean and Aaron.

“I have like, thirty dollars, but I definitely need that for gas and I have to go grocery shopping this weekend.” Aaron tells them.

Dean shifts, digs his wallet out and checks. “Four bucks.”

Of course, Dean is on a room-and-board plan with his scholarship, so his meal card is his most important possession. Living off campus and holding down part time jobs to cover the gaps sounds hard.

“I really want pizza,” Cas grumbles, wiggling to press his face against Aaron’s belly, pulling the shirt up to blow a raspberry on him, “I’ll blow you if you buy me pizza.”

“This thirty has to last me the week,” Aaron says as he blows smoke in Cas’ face, “Plus, you’d give me a blow job anyway.”

“Yeah. That’s true.”

Rolling off the couch, Cas pushes up to his feet. His artfully ripped Sesame Street shirt slouches off bony shoulders. “Come on, up! Up! We’ll raid the couch and see if the couch gods smile favorably upon us.”

The couch gods do not smile favorably upon them.

The three of them mull around, smoke as they pull cushions off the couch and mis-matched loveseat, dig through the crusty sticky underbelly of the cushions. They come up with about six dollars in change, a lost cell phone, someone’s ID, and a fleshlight.

“Seriously, you guys are animals,” Dean toes the fleshlight that has been dropped on the floor. “Cas, I’m gonna guess that’s yours. Go put that in the sink.”

“It doesn’t look familiar,” Cas studies the fleshlight closer than Dean is comfortable with, but makes his way down the hallway to the kitchen with it anyway.

Aaron leans his head against Dean’s chest while Dean finishes the joint, rubs his face around and mutters that Dean has nice pecs. It’s flattering. Dean put on his freshman fifteen, then another ten sophomore year. But he still fills out his jeans damn well, even if he’s a bit softer around the middle.

“C’mon,” Dean tells him, “Let’s join Cas in the kitchen and see what you’ve got, there’s got to be something to make.”

Laughing, Aaron pats his face, “I like your can-do attitude.”

-

The cupboards are a bust.

There’s one lone Hamburger Helper box in a back corner that’s dusty, but there’s no beef or milk or butter for it. Not even a sad can of tuna. Dean also finds an open pack of tortilla wraps that don’t look moldy but are hard enough to be classified as tortilla chips. There is one cupboard shelf occupied by a box of velveeta, a can of Vienna Sausage, and a box of Gushers containing one packet, but Aaron and Cas both warn Dean off that. It’s Ash’s cupboard. And the retribution would not be worth the gain.

So Dean rummages through the fridge again.

Somehow, Cas has found a jar of mostly scraped out peanut butter. He sits on top of the counter, heels kicking against the cupboard, and shoves his tongue in the jar to lick it out. Maybe there are no clean spoons. Maybe, he’s just an animal.

At the scuffed kitchen table with it’s wobbly chairs, Aaron has the box of Hamburger Helper cradled in his arms, picking out pieces of dry macaroni pasta and crunching them, then spitting them out on the table. His neat-pressed button down has been increasingly unbuttoned as the night has progressed and the tuft of chest hair peeking out of the top draws Dean’s eye.

No, no. He’s looking for food right now. He will provide for his group.

The fridge, however, is no better than the cupboards. There is a jar of mustard, maraschino cherries - score, Dean sets those on the table - and a half empty jar of raspberry preserves that looks suspiciously green inside.

There are some leftovers. Oh, are there leftovers. A container in the back looks like a science project and a plate covered loosely in foil, that once Dean lifts the foil to inspect he finds a hard brown lump of something that will not separate from the plate.

In a fit of desperation, Dean opens the crisper drawers.

To his bewilderment, there is something in the crisper. It does not look moldy, or wilted. But there’s something wrong with them.

Dean frowns at the bunch of carrots. There’s orange carrots, but also… yellow carrots? Does color leech out of carrots? And some are black or purple… they… do carrots bruise?

It’s maybe a minute or so of standing in the cool air of the brightly lit refrigerator that Dean squints at the carrots before pulling them out and turning around to Aaron.

“Dude what is wrong with these carrots?”

Aaron, morose over his box of raw pasta, blinks open mouthed at Dean for a beat. “I forgot I had those.”

“Are they bad?” The black ones are probably bad. Definitely.

“They’re supposed to look like that.” Aaron sounds offended on behalf of his carrots.

Dean, unaware of Cas quietly hopping off the counters and padding over, startles at the warm hand on his back.

“They’re so pretty… can I have some?”

“Knock yourself out,” Aaron tells him, turning back to spilling dry macaroni bits on the table and sliding them around with his hands.

Dean, fascinated, horrified maybe, watches as Cas rinses off the colorful carrots in the sink and lifts a blackish-purple one to his face. It’s like a moment in a horror movie when everything runs slow and Dean really should tackle him to the floor before he puts a carrot in his mouth willingly.

“Why would you want those?”

Crunching noisily, Cas starts lining up washed and unpeeled carrots in the strainer, leaning them against the side like an army in waiting. “I like carrots.”

“Carrots shouldn’t look like that.”

Aaron, bored with his macaroni table collage, wanders over to the sink where Dean and Cas are. “They’re like, rainbow carrots. I don’t know. It’s organic or something. My mom brings me groceries once a month, she’s concerned about me eating well.”

Cas offers Dean a purple carrot. “Try it.”

“I would rather stick those up my ass than in my mouth.”

Dean backs away from the carrot, bumping his back against the door knob. Cas looks at the carrot, and looks at him, then looks at Aaron. Aaron looks at the carrot, and at Dean, then back to Cas.

Friggin’ weirdos.

Dean decides that stale, dried out tortilla rolls and the remains of the peanut butter jar is an acceptable snack slash meal, so he sets to it while Cas finishes his carrot, squinting at Dean.

-

So here’s Dean.

Bare arms folded across the rough blue and white plaid couch cushion, face flaming hot buried in the crease between two cushions, knees getting rug burn just from the contact with the cheap brown carpet, ass up and legs wide.

There’s a carrot in his ass.

Cas’ long fingers, so good at stretching him open and bringing Dean to the cusp of orgasm with a twist, are gone and Dean misses them.

“At least six.”

“I think we could get all eight in there.”

“They’re small, but, I don’t know…”

“He can take two dicks, he can definitely take eight carrots.”

Cas sounds very sure of himself.

Dean lifts his head from his couch-cushion-ear-muffs of shame. “I am right here.”

“And you’re doing so good for us,” Cas croons as he pumps the single carrot in and out of Dean’s ass.

“Well, don’t fucking just, tease me, come on man.”

Dean is not whining. He is not asking for them to…. with the carrots…. no. It’s just. Now he’s really horny.

If he hides his head back in the couch he can pretend it’s dildos. Slender, still chilly from the fridge, bumpy in irregular places dildos.

Tipping forward on his knees, resting his chest more firmly on the couch, Dean rocks himself back and forth with the rhythm set by whoever’s got the carrot in his ass. He leans down enough to rub his nipples on the rough fabric of the couch, over-sensitive and needy as hell when he’s high. Time is slow, slow and it’s like the choppy-edited scene jumps of a movie from Dean having one too-slender carrot making him almost-beg for more, to several - he lost count, scene jump - and they shift against each other as Dean clenches, relaxes, rolls his hips back.

“Please, please…”

Dean’s not sure if he’s capable of saying other words.

Maybe ‘fuck’.

That’s a good word. That’s what he really wants right now.

“What do you need?”

Cas’ voice is deep and raspy, right next to his ear, stubble tickling along Dean’s jaw as kisses are laid across whatever isn’t buried in the cushions. Strong hands press between his shoulder blades and drag over his back, fingers spreading along his ribs, teeth dragging over the lobe of his ear. If that’s Cas, then Aaron is the one breathing heavy behind him working his ass open on fucking rainbow carrots.

Aaron has this weird sixth sense and unnervingly, always - with his fingers and toys and dick - always fucking nails Dean in the prostate mercilessly.

“Need you,” Dean turns towards Cas’ voice, “please, please, both of you…”

Steady hands cradle his face and lift him, lips pressed to his, Cas nuzzles their noses together.

“Do you know how amazing you are Dean. All of them. You fit all of them.”

“Am I supposed to find this so hot?” Aaron asks.

Cas leans down Dean’s back, smacks two hands onto his ass and spreads. “Oh yeah.”

Dean doesn’t think he’s got any dignity to spare so he arches his back and groans.

“Come on, upstairs, we’ll take care of you,” Cas placates.

Dean trips on his pants trying to stand up, smacks Cas in the eye with his dick, and almost falls on Aaron.

The fluffy green tails of carrots tickle the insides of his thighs as he hobbles to the stairs.

-

Aaron’s belly is soft and warm and covered with thick hair. Dean likes it. Dean likes to rub his cheeks on it, he likes to blow raspberries on it - when he can make his lips work - and he likes to nip at the tender places below the ribs, around the belly button, at the crease of thighs.

Kneeling on the edge of the bed, Cas fucking into him slowly with two fingers hooked in alongside his dick, Dean drapes over Aaron and forgets what his last name is.

Cas holds his hips up, and Aaron tangles fingers in his hair nudging Dean’s head a little lower.

Mm, Dean likes this about Aaron too. He can be polite when he wants, a little forceful when he wants. And has Dean mentioned how much he likes Aaron’s dick? Soft pink above the circumcision line, thick cockhead, it beads pearlescent white as Dean kitten licks up the ruddy-skinned shaft.

“Come on,” Aaron’s voice is strained, eyes glassy and watching Dean.

Grunting when Cas snaps his hips forward, burying himself deep and it shocks all up Dean’s spine tingling in his bones, Dean bites his lip and whines.

“Do you want us both in here right now, or are you going to be nice to Aaron so I can stretch you out more?”

Dean shudders when Cas pulls a dirty move, getting long fingers from both hands inside and pulling around opposite, stretching his rim.

He can be nice. He can be so so so nice. He’ll be so fucking nice they don’t even know.

Closing his lips around the silk-smooth skin, Dean sucks at the cockhead and jiggles his ass a little, telling Cas to get on with it. Aaron sits half-up, legs splayed wide around Dean, hand pushing slow drags through his hair and Dean’s toes curl. Bobbing down on his cock as Cas picks up pace again, Dean taps Aaron’s hip. Aaron catches the cue and pushes his hips up to fuck into Dean’s mouth. Relaxing, Dean settles into the push pull of their bodies.

Mouth slack and dripping spit, jaw sore, his ass feels so loose he could fit the football team in there, Cas finally, finally, pulls out and gives a sharp slap to his ass.

“Move up.”

“Uh, legs together, or…” Aaron trails off.

“Yeah, together.”

Jostling, Aaron pushes himself further up the bed, messy with thin-worn sheets, and pushes his legs down between Dean’s. Cas guides Dean up, hands on his hips, nudging his legs wider. Straddling Aaron’s lap, Dean drops to his elbows and tries to find Aaron’s lips in the soft mess of his beard. Cas, supposedly, is doing something with condoms and lube back there; he’s good at thinking about those things, remembering them. Chess-master Cas. Dork. Strategist. Sexual deviant extraordinaire.

Dean realizes he’s laughing when Aaron starts laughing and they get breathy, close, rutting hard dicks between their bellies. Aaron’s hands wander along Dean’s back and the curve of his ass, heat and prickling want making Dean squirm.

“Stay still,” Cas punctuates it with another tap.

Pulled back by someone’s hands, blunt cockhead at his ass, Dean sinks down on Aaron’s fat dick and clenches his toes in the sheets, thighs tightening against Aaron’s waist. Cas presses slender fingers into him, still, again - he’s so fucking wet he could pass for a girl.

There’s pressure, and a twinge that radiates out, hot-hot, an intensity so consuming he might as well forget his first name too.

Dean braces his elbows on the bed to hold his weight and mostly falls on Aaron, burying his face in the heady smell of Aaron’s neck and sobbing. It feels so goddam much. Dean jerks, clenches his stomach, gets fists of the sheets to hold onto.

Someone shushes him. Hands all over his body. Cas curls over his back and everything is warm and swelling and Dean feels like he could melt. Tender kisses explore his shoulders. Teeth find that spot on his neck that makes his spine arch. They move. Shift. Pull him wide and fill him until Dean is nothing but a tight pulse of desperate need.

It’s no contest what he likes better, eight carrots or two dicks.

—–

One Week Later

—–

Dean strips the cushions off the loveseat in the living room while Sam attacks the couch. Cas is upstairs raiding under his bed, and Aaron will be home soon from work. There’s still six dollars and some odd change from last week in the stash box, Dean has twenty bucks from winning a bet with Benny in his wallet, and Sam brought ten dollars for dinner when he came to stay the night. (how he got that by mom and dad is a mystery to Dean)

If they can scrounge up four more bucks they can get three large pizzas with tip and probably a bread sticks or wings too.

Dean has a sticky dollar and five cents worth of change in his hand, found a pair of polka dot panties he’s been missing, and a couple of lighters.

“Dude, how did a carrot get lost in your couch?”

Dean whips around, “Put that carrot down Sam!”

In front of the disemboweled couch, Sam holds a wilted yellow carrot pinched between two fingers.

“What?”

“You put that carrot down right now and go wash your hands!”

Sam frowns at the carrot, then at Dean, and drops the carrot. Holding his hands up he turns for the kitchen mumbling, “I don’t even want to know.”

Cas comes back downstairs, grinning widely, and holds open his hands full of change and even a few dollar bills. “Five fourty seven.”

“Hell yeah.” Dean fist pumps a hand full of coins in the air. “We’re getting a side of wings tonight buddy.”

Cas dumps his loot that’s been excavated from beneath his bed onto the coffee table.

Dean points at the carrot on the floor. “You need to throw that out.”

Cas squints and cocks his head to the side. “Huh.”

“Dude don’t touch it with your bare hands!”

From his crouch on the floor, Cas glances up, unimpressed.

“Use a fucking tissue! That’s a health hazard.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas gets a tissue and plucks up the carrot. “Dean I have had my entire fist in your ass.”

At the door to the living room, Sam throws up his hands and groans, “Oh come on! I don’t need to hear that.”

The front door opens, Aaron still in his uniform dropping his school bag and kicking off his shoes, gives a tired smile.

“Did we get more carrots?”

Dean points at him scowls. “No. And I don’t ever want to see a carrot in this house again.”

Tossing the carrot in the wastebasket, Cas shrugs and starts neatly organizing coins as he says, “There might be a zucchini around….”

From the hallway, they hear Sam’s exaggerated “Lalala I can’t hear you!”


End file.
